


by the mother

by TheJoysOfAMultishipper (Amemah)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Multi, healthy friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-13 13:43:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18470137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amemah/pseuds/TheJoysOfAMultishipper
Summary: And think of the helpless, enraged jealousy Ser Jaime must have felt, watching a man marry his sister to the cheering of both gods and men, only to abuse her - the layers of misery surrounding him, invading him... Gods, how long did he last, before killing him?Edit 28.06.19: because I accidentally spelled Jaime’s name wrong every time except once oh my goddddd--Sansa and Brienne discuss Jamie Lannister, and trust.





	by the mother

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in... a year? Let’s not think about that for too long. And my first a song of ice and fire-fic, too! I’m happy with how it turned out, even if it’s not exactly as I imagined it. Oh well :D
> 
> Also - I have no idea how to tag this. In terms of relationships between the three characters, you can read the in any consolation you liked. In this one, I get the feeling that Sansa has VERY FOND FEELINGS for Brienne that MAY OR MAY NOT be romantic in nature, and Brienne's feeling are more Jaime-oriented, but there's still a devotion to Sansa that goes beyond (in my opinion) that to Cat and Renly. And Sansa/Jaime - this could easily be read as the groundwork for that, but I wouldn't know where Brienne would fit. Neither Jaime nor Sansa would hurt Brienne like that, so there's some tragedy for you. And lastly, a triad; somewhat out there in terms of in-world possibility, but completely in tone with the fic. So read it how you want. And Gen, because there is no ship as of this moment, lol.

“You remind me of him, you know.”

Brienne’s voice wasn't quiet – Sansa’s not sure she’s capable of ever sounding anything but formidable – but it’s distracted, almost accidental. As if the words slipped out without any thought to their consequences.

“Of who?” Sansa’s voice _was_ quiet. She thought she knew the answer anyway – not many people could make that expression appear on her Shield’s face. Only one, in fact.

“Jaime, my lady.” Brienne turned to her, those blue eyes as intent as ever, even in their current insecurity. A hint of a smile appeared on her face as her honour compelled her to speak: “Without the Kingslaying and the… well.”

Sansa lips quirked, almost without her permission. It’s easier to smile now, with Arya and Bran in her protection, even with Jon gone to the Conqueror. And speaking of Targaryens – “the incest, Ser.”

Brienne nodded, a brief and jerky thing, her jaw tight with tension. “Yes.” She cleared her throat, looking away for a second. Only a second, though. _“That.”_

Sansa hummed in thought as her hands tightened on the parapet, looking towards the moors. They were no longer the fields of her youth, but covered in enough snow to mask the blood of two battles thrice over. “Did he like the songs, too?”

In the corner of her right eye, she could see Brienne straightening her back even more as she starts in surprise. “My lady..?”

“Ser Jaime and I have many things is common, Ser,” Sansa turned back to her Shield, flicking her hand to get rid of the snow collected in the grooves of her glove. “Not one of them is something that would _remind_ you of him, when you look at me.”

Brienne doesn’t say anything to that, but it’s clear she has _something_ to say. Sansa intends to listen – the last time she didn’t listen, she’d only barely lived to regret it. “It’s not that he liked the songs –“

“Gods, did he believe in them?” She knows from Brienne that despite everything, Ser Jamie is different to his siblings, to his father, but it’s something completely different to be told the _Kingslayer_  grew up believing in the songs. Believing in the same way she did.

“Aye.” Brienne’s hand flexes, and there is sympathy in every line of her face. “He wanted to protect the innocent.”

“How would a person raised by Tywin ever be allowed to protect the innocent?” There is no reprimand in her voice, but Brienne flinches anyway. “His path was paved the second Cersei dragged him into this world.”

There is too much truth in her statement to refute it, and Brienne knows it as well as Sansa. _And yet - even as he rides across the West and the Reach doing Cersei’s bidding, she thinks him honourable._

“He watched my grandfather burn.”

“He watched your lord uncle choke, as well.” Brienne’s own honour is absolute, and not even the defence of her friend will compel her to speak a lie, or refrain from a truth. Not even an ugly one. _I used to be like that_ , Sansa thinks. _When Jeyne and Beth and I stole cakes from the kitchen, I could never keep it from Ser Rodrik when he found us, giggling over our treasure._

“He didn’t kill the king then.”

“No.” Brienne flexes her hand again, moves it to the hilt of her sword. _Father’s sword, used in my defence_.

“He believed in the songs, and the king he was sworn to protect raped his sister-wife – their _queen_ – and burnt his bannermen.” Sansa’s voice isn’t quiet anymore, still strong no matter how tired she is of it all. “How young do you think he was, when he was stationed in the throne room the first time?”

“Six-and-ten, perhaps,” Jaime was only fifteen when he donned the Cloak, but the Kingsguard would have trained him more to be sure he could ably defend the King before letting him in the throne room. Ser Gerold would stand for no less. “Not much more.”

“He kept his songs longer than me, then.” Sansa looked toward the moor again. “I wonder if that made it worse.”

Brienne’s throat was dry. “Maybe, my lady. I don’t think there was much room for songs in Cersei’s bed.”

“No. No, you’re probably right.” Sansa’s lips were no more than white line.  _She must’ve begun her manipulations somewhere, after all._ “But he was a willing participant, at least in the beginning.”

“I think he still is.”

“Is he blind to her?”

“Blind?” Brienne thought it over, sight locked on something far beyond Sansa’s reach. “Love is blind.”

 _You love him_ , Sansa was as decisive in her reckoning as any Warden of the North. _You’re not blind to him._ She hummed instead of speaking, a sound without any judgement or will. “He killed Aerys for a reason.”

“... Do you know the reason, my lady?”

“I don’t. However…” Sansa considered her words for a hesitating second, looking over her Shield. “No one had anything bad to say about him before Aerys.”  _And think of the helpless, enraged jealousy Ser Jaime must have felt, watching a man marry his sister to the cheering of both gods and men, only to abuse her - the layers of misery surrounding him, invading him... Gods, how long did he last, before killing him? What was the final straw? Tywin at the gates? Utter rage? Rhaegar going the way of his raping father, with no thought to the consequences, the pain?_ But no... Something didn't  _fit_. Brienne was so sure of him; she must know something - but this was one thing Sansa wouldn't ask about. Not today, at least. 

“I’ve never - I've never thought of that.” 

“I have. And despite my grandfather and uncle, I think I know better than my father the madness and cruelty of kings. We’ve called him the _Mad King_ for so long we’ve become deaf to the meaning of it.” Sansa curled one hand into another, eyes locked with Brienne’s. _Did Joffrey ever torture me in the same spot my grandfather burned?_ “Considering Ser Jaime’s infamy, he has remarkably few skeletons in his closet.” _Then again, maybe his skeletons are north of the Wall, with all the rest of them_.

“He does.” Brienne nodded, her rigid stance softening. “But the few he has –“

“Aye. My brother, Jory Cassel.” Sansa’s mouth twisted; Brienne’s head bowed in respectful acknowledgement. “My father’s men, my father’s son. But Ramsay was someone’s son, too.”

“Sansa –“

“I know. It is not the same.” Sansa shuddered, unable to help herself, all her tools useless in the face of all her worst nightmares come to life, even in his death.  _Did the Night King raise Ramsay, too? If he ever kills the parts of me he did not reach, will I march alongside him and Umber and Karstark, one of Old Nan’s myths turning me into a soldier against my own land?_ But no; Jon and Bronze Yohn had personally overseen the burning of the fallen. _I’d let Daenerys Targaryen burn me and Winterfell to the ground before I let it come to that, anyway._ She wasn’t sure if she was lying to herself or not. “It is not even remotely the same.

“But in terms of breaking vows and keeping oaths, do you think Jaime’s betrayal was closer to Karstark beheading Shaggywolf and giving Osha and Rickon to Ramsay – “

Everything in Brienne’s honest face was twisted in reluctant denial, but she would not interrupt her lady.

“– or do you think it’s closer to me feeding Ramsay to his own dogs? I swore vows as well, in front of a Heart tree no less. The same Weirwood my House has prayed to and sworn on for the past eight thousand years. I swore to be his lady wife on the most sacred I know, and I fed him to his own dogs. I  _smiled_.” Sansa was quiet, her gaze distant and unfocused.

“I don’t think –“ Brienne cleared her throat, uncertain and very far from her comfort zone, yet exactly where she should be: by the side of Sansa Stark, and a friend of Jamie Lannister. Damn him for making those things so utterly, completely opposed to each other. “I don’t think anything will ever compare to what _he_ did to you.”

“There is so much cruelty, and much of it in the throne room of the Red Keep.”

“And I should have kept you safe from it all, my lady.”

Sansa startled, pulling herself from her memories, and saw the suddenly desperate woman in front of her. Deliberately, she uncurled her hands as she pulled her gloves off, reaching one of them down towards Brienne, holding it against her cheek. She’d fallen to one knee without her noticing.

“I’m sorry, Brienne, I didn’t mean to – “ Sansa licked her lips, tried to swallow past her parched throat. She’d fallen too deep in her mind, and hadn’t seen Brienne take her musings to heart. “You _have_ protected me.”

“I should’ve never brought it up, never – “

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Brienne.”

Brienne looked up the from stones of Winterfell, a pained grimace marring her face. “I have, my lady.”

“Oh, no.” Sansa voice was as gentle as the hand on Brienne’s cheek, moving to card through her hair and settling at her neck, her thumb at Brienne’s tense jaw. “You  _have_ protected me. You have kept me safe from harm, from the cold, from hunger. And after everything you did for me, you swore to do it all again, if necessary. You swore it in perpetuity.”

“It is nothing less than you deserve, my lady.” Brienne said, utterly without compromise.

“Deserve.” Sansa smiled, a gentle thing she’d almost forgotten until she’d seen Brienne fall to one knee and Podrick helped them with the vows. “Do you know what I believe  _you_ deserve, Ser?”

“… my lady?”

“We talk of Aerys and Jaime, and the Kingsguard. Oaths sworn and kept.” _Tearing us all a part, one way or another._

“I swore to  _you_ , my Lady.” Uncertainty in every note of her voice.

“You did. But I don’t want your whole life, Brienne.” Sansa tightened her hand in reassurance at the wordless protest Brienne made, hurrying to speak so the grief on her face would disappear. _Never to reappear, in a perfect world_. “For as long you’ll have me, Brienne, for as long as you’ll stand beside and behind and in front of me, I am yours to protect.”

“Thank you, my lady.” A prayer, almost.

“I want your friendship and your counsel, as well, make no mistake,” Sansa smiled, and felt nothing but relief and true, true, true _joy_ at Brienne’s answering grin.

“With pleasure, my lady. Pleasure and honour.”

It was fitting that it was the most honourable knight in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms that made Sansa flush with delighted, contended pleasure for the first time since her father’s death. It was even more fitting that this knight was a woman, chosen by her mother.

“The pleasure and honour is mine as well, Ser. And because of that…” Sansa furrowed her brows in thought, her hand absentmindedly stroking Brienne’s cheek. Not as soft as her own, but soft all the same. “I have seen so much, Brienne. And I’ve thought about the things I’ve seen, what I’ve learnt. And I’ve decided that when people pledge themselves to me, promise something of themselves in my service, I will not let them lose themselves to me.”

Brienne shifted on her one knee, her face a question. “Indeed..?”

“I want you  _happy_ , Brienne. And when you serve me, I want it to be your _choice_.”

“But…” Brienne shook her head slightly, confused. “I _did_ choose you. Isn’t that rather the point?”

“I think point is actually Jaime Lannister, but yes –“ Sansa grinned at Brienne’s aborted choke, “ _Choice_. You chose me once, and every day you don’t ride out these gates, you choose me again. Brienne, your oath to me is one of my most dear possessions, this isn’t about that. It’s about – “

“Will.” Brienne reached her hand up, covering Sansa’s smaller one in her hand, holding it against her jaw. Coming from Sansa, this made sense. “Free will.”

“Yes,” Sansa said past the tightening of her throat. _I will not cry, not now. This is a happy moment, I will not cry_. “It’s about you being your own person and _choosing_.”

“All right.” Brienne tightened her hold on Sansa’s hand, posture relaxed even as she knelt now that she knew she wasn’t being discharged from her duty. “What does this mean, exactly?”

“Day to day? I’m not quite sure. I don’t think we necessarily need to change much. But the biggest things, what this conversation is _actually_ about –“

“Yes?”

“Your happiness.” Sansa swallowed, settling down on her knees as her back finally gave out. “Your life.”

“My choice.”

“Brienne – you swore your life to mine, you swore your protection of me. And in return, I promise that you shall forsake nothing else.”

There was a feeling in the pit of Brienne’s stomach that understood better where this conversation was going than she herself was willing to admit. She did not speak.

“If you want a husband, you shall have one.”

“Sworn shields do not marry.”

“Mine will, if she wishes it.” There was so much intent in Sansa’s gentle face Brienne couldn’t look away if her life depended on it. “If you want a husband, I will wed you myself if you’ll allow me the honour – “

Brienne’s already wide eyes widened further, surprise preventing her from voicing… Well, she wasn’t sure what she would have said anyway, so maybe it was for the best.

“– If you don’t want a husband, but you want a lover or a hundred lovers, I will order the maids to change the sheets myself.”

They both gave startled half-laughs at that, the image of the Lady of Winterfell standing at the foot of her Shield’s bed, ordering the maids without batting an eye as last night’s lover made himself scarce.  

“– If you don’t want either of those, but you want a child –“

“My lady!” Brienne shook her head in disbelief, eyes watering. “You cannot – out of _wedlock_ –! “

“ _If_ you want _neither_ , but a _child_ ,” Sansa repeated, her hand moving up to the back of her head, tightening her hold as if to hold Brienne in place, “I will carry those children on my hip as I meet the bannermen, as I discuss the larders with my steward, as we watch you spar in the yard – “

“Sansa.” Brienne spoke as if that was the only sound she knew how to make, not quite sure what it was meant to convey.

“And if your happiness means Jaime Lannister – “

Brienne shook her head again, unable to believe, unable to _fathom_ what her Lady was saying.

“Brienne. _Whatever_ your happiness. _You_ …” Sansa drew a shuddering breath, looking towards the moor hiding behind the parapet. Distantly she wondered what her guards were making of them, sitting on stone and snow in the coldest winter in man’s memory. “You are the most honourable person I know, and I _trust_ you.”

Brienne knew that gift for what it was, and forcibly shook off all thoughts of golden lions and the ridiculous hope she _still_ harboured to respond to what her lady was actually saying. _You can bring a Lannister into my Godswood and I will still feel safe with you behind me_. “My lady, I choose you. I have always chosen you; I genuinely cannot understand that you could ever disappoint me.”

Sansa leaned forward, shuffling on her knees until she could kiss Brienne’s forehead. She could feel it creasing underneath her lips as Brienne fought whatever emotion she was feeling, felt her throat constrict, shudder under her hand. There was something tight in Sansa’s chest, something like a childhood dream that grew up and then came true.

“ _Thank you, Brienne_.” Sansa blinked the burning from her eyes, finally rising from the cold stones with her Shield. “You honour me.”

It was snowing, fluffy snowflakes raining down to cover them both in a fine veil as they let the emotions of the moment settle into them before gently shaking them off.

 _Even when winter is here, it is still coming. There is work to be done_. They walked off the parapet in contented silence, Brienne one step behind her lady.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of thoughts about Sansa’s desperation in reaching for her happiness and taking it, no matter what. And I think that when she realizes that the same Brienne that saved her from Ramsay and his men is in love with Jaime, she steels herself against everything she knows and decides to trust Brienne. I think this requires some work on Sansa’s part that’s happened before this fic takes place, but I do think it’s somewhat feasible - and 'somewhat feasible' is better than the foundation for most of my fics, so I’m taking it. 
> 
> I don’t know - I just... Sansa in season 6 gave us so much in terms of her character, especially her feelings regarding Ramsay and her own safety. I won’t go into it here, but I have opinions, lol.  
> And the whole “carry your bastard on my hip” -- I have opinions on Sansa-Catelyn-Jon-debacle that are more generous to Sansa than most of the fandom, but no matter how you feel about it, there is no denying that Sansa smiled as a bastard was proclaimed King in the North. So there. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! <3
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr, empresslucrezia! Come say hi!](http://empresslucrezia.tumblr.com)


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